


The Time's Passed

by trevorphilipsbodypillow



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-10
Updated: 2013-11-14
Packaged: 2017-12-28 23:38:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/998277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trevorphilipsbodypillow/pseuds/trevorphilipsbodypillow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trevor got a bad feeling the moment he walked away from Michael and Franklin. The job had gone so well. Too well. He was about to be a fucking multi-millionaire, but it wasn't right. He couldn't even place why.</p><p>Day one after the heist, he didn't hear from anyone.</p><p>Day two, he got a call from Tracey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILER ALERT FOR THE END OF THE GAME
> 
>  
> 
> this is a fic I thought about writing since I saw "The Time's Come," the optional ending where Franklin kills Michael. it doesn't exactly follow the aftermath of that mission, obviously, so i guess you can call it an AU of sorts.
> 
> enjoy, lovely people <3

Trevor got a bad feeling the moment he walked away from Michael and Franklin. The job had gone so well. Too well. He was about to be a fucking multi-millionaire, but it wasn't right. He couldn't even place why.

Day one after the heist, he didn't hear from anyone.

Day two, he got a call from Tracey.

It was at Vanilla Unicorn that his phone started ringing. He stumbled while pulling it out, slightly tipsy from his third beer of the night, and upon seeing the caller ID, took a step into the back room. As soon as he was out of earshot of the blaring music, he answered.

"Hey, Trace."

There was silence on the other line. That was when Trevor's stomach dropped.

"Tracey?" He tried again.

"....Trevor?" The young girl's usually peppy tone was gone. Her voice was strained and heavy.

"Tracey? Tracey, what's wrong?" Trevor's voice was already getting urgent. Something was wrong.

"Did-" her voice cracked. She had been crying. No, she was still crying. Trevor's heart clenched as she struggled to continue, voice shaking. "Do you know what happened?"

No.

No. It couldn't be.

"Tracey. I don't know anything. Please, just tell me what's wrong."

Tracey let out a loud sob, and Trevor's mind raced as he waited for her to calm down.

It went too well. Everything had been going too smoothly. He knew it. He fucking knew it.

"It's Daddy," she finally choked out.

Everything froze. It suddenly didn't matter where or when Trevor was, because everything stopped. He wasn't even sure if he heard what Tracey said next. He didn't need to. He already knew.

"He's dead, Trevor."

-_-_-_-_-_-

Through Tracey's tears, she managed to get out that Amanda was currently at the coroner. She wouldn't want to see Trevor. Tracey wanted him to come over before she got home. Trevor was already in the car by the time she had finished.

He hung up the phone and threw it in the passenger seat as he drove to the De Santa household. He was driving on autopilot, all of the lights of the cars and buildings flashing past him in a blur. He was numb. He wasn't sure how to process the information given to him. Michael was dead. Ironically enough, he bitterly reflected, it wasn't the first time he had received this news. But it was different this time, for some reason. And he didn't know how to feel about it. All he could do was push whatever feelings he had to the side, because for now he had to focus his energy on the kids. Fuck Amanda if she didn't want to see him, he didn't give a shit. But if Tracey needed Uncle Trevor right now, then God help the sorry bastard that tried to stop him. He loved Tracey and Jimmy like they were his own, despite of how the city of Los Santos had twisted them, and he'd do anything for them.

When he got to the house, Tracey was already waiting outside. Trevor was barely out of the car before she had run to him and buried her face in his chest, sobbing. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in close, hushing her with quiet words. He guessed this was proof that Trevor Philips had a heart, because seeing Tracey like that was breaking it.

After a while he managed to usher her into the house, where they found Jimmy waiting for them in the living room. He was more put together than Tracey, but he still looked shaken. In contrast to his usual demeanor, he was subdued and spoke quietly once Trevor and Tracey joined him on the couch.

"They said it happened two nights ago," he recounted. "They say he fell off a factory in Senora Desert...." Jimmy's voice trailed off. He was looking down at the ground, and he shook his head. "It just doesn't make sense, Uncle T. Those fuckers at the coroner's office probably think he fuckin' offed himself. But everything was great. Someone must have-"

Trevor interrupted, clearing his throat, and when Jimmy looked up he quietly motioned to his sister. She had finally calmed down a little, leaning on the older man as he slung an arm around her shoulders, and he wanted her to stay that way. Talking about her father's murderer a mere hours after finding out about his death wasn't going to help that. Jimmy, for once, seemed to take the hint, and he quieted up again.

They all exchanged a few more useless, empty words, if only to fill up the quiet space, before a text on Jimmy's phone announced that Amanda would be home soon. Trevor stood, understanding his cue to leave, and said his goodbyes to Tracey before heading towards the front door. Jimmy followed him.

Trevor stopped before he went outside and turned to Jimmy once he was sure they were a good distance away from Tracey.

Jimmy started immediately. "Trevor, me and Trace, we know it wasn't you. I... I don't know about Mom, but-"

Trevor cut him off there. "Your mom doesn't think it’s me. If she did, she already has all the details she needs to have turned me in already. Yeah, she'd be none too happy to see me right now, but as much as I hate to admit it, she's not an idiot."

Jimmy just looked at him, desperation in his eyes. "Then who was it?"

Trevor just narrowed his eyes and shook his head slightly. "You're not an idiot either, Jim." He turned away and opened the door. As he stepped outside, he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, "Neither of us are." 

-_-_-_-_-_-

He had Franklin on the phone before he had pulled out of the driveway.

"'Ey, what up, T?"

"What, did you think you could get away with it scott fucking free?"

There was silence on the other line. Then, an awkward laugh. "Man, T, watchu on about now?"

Trevor was already enraged, but Franklin's reply finally pushed him over the edge. "Listen to me, you two-bit gangster piece of shit!" He screamed into the phone. "I ain't no fucking Mother Teresa, I've done shit for no better reason than to get my fuckin' jollies off. But when you fuckin' cap a man and rip his entire family to fuckin' shreds, the least you can fuckin' do is fucking own up to it!"

"Trevor, man, come o-"

"Fuck you!" Trevor spat, not letting him speak. Knuckles white, he clenched the phone with a death grip as he growled lowly. "Fuck your fucking stories, you fuck. I'm not going to kill you. Killing you ain't going to make Michael any less dead, and a putrid, spineless little thief like you isn't worth my goddamn time. But this... this. Isn't the way. To fucking deal with things. You never even learned a goddamn thing with us, did you? You're still just a cowardly fucking gangbanger. You're fucking dead to me."

There was another beat of silence. Franklin's next words echoed in Trevor's ears. "You're the one that wanted him dead in the first place."

Trevor stopped breathing for a moment. Then he let out a booming, feral growl and threw his phone out the car window.

He swerved between traffic as he drove, occasionally screaming curses and hitting the steering wheel.

Fuck it.

Fuck it.

He'd get a new fucking phone.

-_-_-_-_-_-

It wasn't hard to break into the coroner's office.

It wasn't hard to locate the stiff labeled "Michael De Santa."

Pulling down the covers and looking at his face; that was hard. That was hard in a way that Trevor could barely understand.

He had just wanted to know. Given his past experiences, he just wanted to know if this was real. But even as he stared into the pale, lifeless face of his former friend - the second dead friend he had seen this week, no less - he still wasn't sure if he believed it. He stood there for so long, just staring at him, as if he expected the corpse to sit up eventually, and admit that this was all another big goof on Trevor.

As he looked, he also touched. He didn't even realize he was doing it at first. Maybe it was because he felt he couldn't even trust his own eyes anymore, but as the sting of cold flesh assaulted his finger tips, he realized his eyes hadn't deceived him.

The contours of his face, grown deep with age and still slightly crusted with dried blood, were real.

His broad shoulders, pressed stiffly against the steel table and even broader since the last time Trevor really saw them, were real.

The Y-shaped line of stitches across his chest and torso, fresh from the autopsy, were definitely real.

Trevor suddenly thought of what Franklin had said to him, and he jerked his hand away as if Michael's icy frame had burnt him.

Michel was a traitor. He had gotten Brad killed, and had lied to Trevor for years about everything. It was bound to happen again. Especially with their latest heist, with how high the stakes were. Michael Townley was already dead. He died nine years ago in North Yankton. And Michael De Santa was a fucking snake. He was better off dead. That had been Trevor's instinct since he had found him again. He always trusted his own instinct. This should definitely be right. This is what had to happen.

So why did Trevor feel sick to his stomach?

He scowled suddenly at the body before him, and turned away.

He was done here. He had gotten what he wanted. He saw it with his own eyes.

Michael De Santa was dead.


	2. Chapter 2

"Hey, Tracey."

"Hi, Uncle Trevor. Are... are you, like, super busy right now or something?"

"Nah. Why, what's up?"

"Oh. Uh, nothing I guess. I'm just at the house right now. I was just, like, thinking about stuff and I wanted to call, I guess."

"Alright."

"Yeah.... Like, no one else is here right now. Jimmy's actually, like, looking for a job, if you can even freaking believe that. And Mom's out too... making... funeral arrangements."

"...Neither of you kids went with her?"

"No. We, like, totally tried, but she said she wanted to go alone. I mean, like, if that's what she wants. That kind of stuff always kinda freaked me out anyway. Maybe I'm better off staying home."

"....Mm."

"...But, like.... I've just been thinking, y'know? It's, like, all I can do, is just think about it. Like.... I... never... really... got along that well with him, y'know? I mean, like, after we moved to Los Santos and everything, I guess I never really got him. I just... I didn't, like, understand some of the things he did."

"Nobody understood half the things your father did."

"Yeah.... I just. I don't know, like, I'm not even sure what I'm trying to say right now. Like... it's just the little things, y'know? I-I mean, we didn't ever get along that well, but I.... I guess I just-"

"Trace, don't cry."

"Whenever I imagined myself, like, getting married in the future, I guess I just always knew that... he would be the one walking me down the aisle. And now... he-he's just gone, Uncle Trevor."

"...."

"I-it's just hard...."

"...Yeah. Yeah, I know, Tracey."

"T-talking to you about it makes me feel a little better, though."

"Good. It should. Because listen, Tracey. Now that I'm back in you kids' lives, nothing on this green Earth is gonna fuckin' pull me away again. Whenever you need me, for any reason, just give me a call, and creepy, old Uncle Trevor's gonna be right there. And whenever you decide to get married to whatever Vinewood cretin that probably doesn't deserve you, I'll walk you down the aisle. And I'll be the ring bearer, the caterer, the band, the maid of honor; I'll be the entire goddamn reception if that's what you want, Trace."

"....Hehe. You're silly, Uncle Trevor."

"Silly like a fox. Now perk up, sunshine, what's the world coming to if little Miss Tracey Townley can't break a smile?"

"Yeah... thanks, Trevor."

"No problem. Now, do you want me to come over?"

"No... I'm better now. Besides, like, sorry, but I don't want Mom to get home and see you and get upset."

"Ugh. That's fine."

"Sorry, Uncle Trevor. Like, I don't even understand why Mom doesn't want to see you. You make everything better. Like, always. You've always been my favorite uncle, even when you, like, weren't even around."

"Better than that brother of Amanda's that owns a Buger Shot franchise or some shit?"

"Waaaaaaaay better."

"Good."

-_-_-_-_-_-

Trevor wanted to stay in Los Santos for a while. He wanted to stay around for the kids' sakes, mostly. But as the days rolled by, he grew resentful of every little nook and cranny in the Los Santos area. Every street, every cul-de-sac, every store, they were all teeming with memories from the last couple weeks, and every memory bore its way into Trevor's skin and made him itch. He was itching to get out of this godforsaken, hell hole of a city. He couldn't take any more of all the bright lights that left lasting impressions. Every day he had to fight to not return to the embrace of Sandy Shores, where the desert sand and the meth diluted bitter memories or painful pasts.

Trevor retained his composure until the day he received his cut from the Union Depository heist. This came along with an email from Lester, informing Trevor that Michael's cut had been split between Trevor and Franklin, on account of Michael's "accident."

Trevor was in the back office of the Vanilla Unicorn, downing his seventh beer of the night, and the second he had finished reading, he had already grabbed his eighth beer for the road and was out the door. He was surprised he could even remember that Wade was there with him, but on his way out, he stopped by him and shooed away the strippers still entertaining the boy.

"Let's go. We're done here." Trevor muttered gruffly.

"Huh?" Wade looked up at him quizzically, and Trevor's face twitched.

"I said we're fuckin' done here," Trevor snarled.

"Whattaya mean, Tre- Ow!" Wade couldn't finish his thought before Trevor grabbed him by his arm and yanked him up off the couch. He pulled him towards the door in a hurry, but all the way to the car, Wade was overflowing with questions.

"Trevor, where we goin'?"

"Home."

"We ain't livin' at the strip club anymore? Hey, that kinda hurts-"

"No, we're not living at the strip club."

"We goin' back to Sandy Shores?"

"Yes."

"Was you- ouch. W-was you able to do what you wanted to do in LS?"

Trevor didn't answer this, only threw Wade towards the ratty pickup roughly. "Get in the car."

Wade blinked, but complied quickly while rubbing his arm. Trevor a long swig of his beer before settling into the driver's seat, and as he slammed the door after him, he felt Wade jump slightly.

"Gee, Trevor, is you mad 'bout somethin’?"

"No more questions." Trevor snapped quickly, keeping his eyes ahead as he started the car.

-_-_-_-_-_-

As they began to progress up Vinewood Hills, Wade spoke up again.

"Trevor?"

Trevor didn't answer him, only polished off the last of his beer and tossed it out the window. He was drunk. He was really drunk. Drunker than he'd probably admit to anyone. To be perfectly honest, he wasn’t even exactly sure how he was operating the car as well as he was.

"T-Trevor," Wade tried again. "You seem real mad right now, and I don't wanna make you mad at me or nothin', but I was thinkin'. I feel real bad 'bout leavin' LS without sayin' bye to Floyd and Debra."

Floyd. Floyd and Debra. Trevor had almost forgotten. Great. Fucking great. Just add them to the endless list of corpses in Los Santos that Trevor was trying to run from.

Trevor was silent, so Wade continued after waiting for a reply. "I mean, Floyd were nice enough to let us stay in his and Debra's condo, and I ain't seen him in a while anyways. You said he was gonna be at the strip club with us, but he never came."

"We're not seeing Floyd and Debra." Trevor snapped. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, noticing that he was starting to lose sight of the road.

"Yeah, but- aside from that, I don't got my phone any more. I think the strippers took it for some reason. Maybe we could just go back and look for it a little bit, then maybe Floyd'll finally show up on his own."

Trevor grimaced, and spoke through his teeth. "We'll get you a new phone."

Wade sounded like he was struggling. "Y-yeah, but, Trevor-"

"Fuckin' A, Wade!" Trevor shouted suddenly, slamming his hand against the dashboard to emphasize his words. Wade immediately shrunk back in the passenger seat. "For a guy who doesn't want to make me mad at him, you're sure askin’ a whole fuckin’ lot of annoying fuckin' questions!"

"Sorry, Trevor," Wade muttered, tucking his chin under the collar of his hoodie.

"Fuck," Trevor cursed, hitting the dashboard again. He was fucking enraged, absolutely fucking enraged. The alcohol was definitely getting to him now, and between the overload of emotions and his inebriated state, he could barely even tell where he was or how fast the car was going or where it was going to. "Fuck!"

He suddenly slammed on the breaks and pulled over on the side of the road. After they were stopped, Trevor tried to compose himself and looked out to his right, waiting for the background to come into focus. They weren't out of Los Santos yet. They were at the top of the hill, overlooking it. Trevor growled loudly and threw the car door open, climbing out and slamming it shut behind him.

"Trevor?" Trevor looked over again at Wade, who was now sitting up in the passenger's seat, looking at the older man with wide eyes. Trevor, feeling slightly dizzy from standing up so quickly in his current state, just kind of vaguely shook his head. Then he turned his head and started walking. He could barely even fucking see where he was going, and didn't even know where he wanted to be in the first place, so he just walked. 

Wade was right behind him.

"Trevor, where're you going?" Wade climbed out of the car, walking across the front seats and hopping over the side, and cautiously trailed after Trevor.

“- don’t fuckin’ know,” Trevor muttered, his words suddenly slurring. “But you’re not fuckin’ followin’ me, you little shit. Take the fuckin’ car and go home.”

“Huh? Trevor,” Wade started, the concern and confusion growing in his voice. “I… I don’t get it, Trevor. Why’s you so mad at me all of a sudden? I mean, I guess you’re always kinda mad at me for bein’ dumb an’ stuff, but you’re actin’ real strange Trevo-”

“Drive home, Wade. Now.” Trevor didn’t even glance behind him to look at Wade, just kept his eyes forward, focused on the vague line of a horizon in the distance.

Wade’s tone was growing more urgent. Almost panicked. “T-Trevor, come on now. Let’s just go back together. I-I mean, we could just go back to the strip club an’ get a good’s night rest before we go home, an’ maybe we can both say bye to Floyd and Debra before-”

That was it. Trevor was over the edge. He finally whipped around to face Wade, a little sloppily, and screamed, “You’re not fucking saying anything to Floyd and Debra, Wade!”

Wade, who had been following him a few feet away, stopped dead as soon as Trevor whipped around, and winced as if he’d been hit. He looked off to the side meekly, and stammered, “Wh-why not, Trevor?”

“Because they’re fucking dead, Wade!” He was still screaming, his voice almost cracking from the sheer volume he was achieving. “Fucking dead as dirt, my friend, fucking dead as fucking dirt!”

Wade just kind of blinked at him blankly, not fully comprehending what was being said to him, but he took a step back in reaction to Trevor’s anger. “Wh-”

Trevor cut him off again, determined to not let him get a word in edgewise. “They’re fucking gone, kid. Your good pal Debra gave me a funny look on the other end of a fucking pistol. And bless Floyd’s weak little scampery heart, the guy started waving a fuckin’ knife around all willy nilly, and you know what, I don’t much fuckin’ like bein’ threatened by ‘family,’ so I just fuckin’ reacted. That’s what you’ve gotta do to make it in this crazy, crazy, world, Wadey boy! React! So now they’re rotting in that godforsaken condo, not goin’ no where, just like they always fuckin’ wanted!” Trevor was pacing erratically, and suddenly he started taking steps towards Wade. Wade, still shocked silent, started stepping back.

“And you wanna fucking know what else, little buddy?” Trevor continued, voice growing hoarse from yelling. “Turns out my best friend ,who I thought was dead but wasn’t, is actually dead now! Ain’t that a fuckin’ story? Yep, it’s the twist ending of the fuckin’ century, sincerely postmarked from LS, San Andreas!” He backed Wade up against a car; it wasn’t theirs, it was a minivan parked there by a family that was no doubt getting lost in the view of Los Santos. Bad luck for them. Wade grunted as he walked back into it, now cornered by the belligerent older man in front of him.

“Trevor, I-”

Trevor interrupted again. “So, Wade, to make a long story short: I’ve had a rotten fucking vacation. So fucking forgive me if I don’t take to fucking kindly to the methhead ingrate to my right squawking in my ear like I’m a contestant in 20 fucking Questions!” Trevor stopped then, having started to run out of things to say. He realized he was panting, trying to catch his breath from the effort of his tirade.

When he finally looked at Wade, really focused on him, what he saw just enraged him further.

Wade didn’t look mad. He didn’t look defensive, or panicked, or even scared. He just looked worried.

Trevor was tense, pent up with anger, so when he raised his arm back and sent a fist hurtling towards Wade, it was a knee-jerk reaction that he was barely even controlling.

When his fist went through the window of the car right beside Wade’s head, Trevor wasn’t even sure if he had missed on purpose or not.

Wade hadn’t even had time to duck or look away at first, but the crash of glass breaking beside him finally made him look down and clench his eyes shut tightly. As soon as that look of concern was off of Trevor, the older man immediately backed away, almost triumphantly. He was vaguely aware that his hand was bleeding, small shards of glass still clinging to the fresh wounds, but either the alcohol or the rush of endorphins was dulling the pain. He turned away from Wade and continued walking again.

“’m takin’ a fuckin’ walk,” Trevor said, words slurring again. His vision was blurring away to blackness at the edges, and it became difficult to even tell if he was walking straight. “Take the truck. Drive home.”

Trevor remembered taking six steps forward before blacking out on the side of the highway above Los Santos.


	3. Chapter 3

When Trevor awoke, it was to the sting of a bright light and a dry heat. He was tangled in a mass of old, dirty sheets, on a bed that stunk of a multitude of stale bodily fluids and alcohol. The walls closed in tightly around him, the room a sorry, overly cramped excuse for a proper living area.

All in all, it was good to be back home again.

Drowsy and disoriented, Trevor slowly rose up in his bed, pinching the bridge of his nose as the hangover hit him. He groaned suddenly and looked down at his right hand. It was crudely wrapped up in a now blood-stained dish rag, and the pain throbbed dully through his entire forearm. It was only after seeing this that the night before slowly came back to him. Well, at least part of it.

Trevor groaned again as he slowly pulled himself out of bed. He sat on the edge, trying to remember how in God’s name he had managed to get back to his trailer, when it finally hit him. He stood up, a sense of odd foreboding washing over him, and he trudged over to the bedroom door. He opened it, and a quick survey of the next room gave him all the information he needed.

Wade was there. He was sleeping on the couch, still in the same clothes as the night before. Trevor glanced out the window and saw his beat up Bohdi parked outside.

He didn’t need to ask. He could play the scene in his head like he actually remembered it.

Wade had driven him home.

Trevor had confessed to killing his cousin and tried to punch him in the face before blacking out sloppily on the freeway, and the son of a bitch had driven him home.

Trevor gritted his teeth and leaned his forehead against the doorframe. “Goddammit,” he muttered under his breath. “God fucking dammit.”

His head was spinning with emotions he didn’t have the energy to process. Remorse, guilt, and grief washed over him like a tidal wave, and the only way he knew how to handle it was to force it back inwards and release it as anger. Clenching his fists, he eyed a package of beer amongst all the white-trash clutter on the kitchen counter and stormed towards it.

As he passed by the couch, he spat, “Wake up, fuckhead,” loudly in Wade’s direction. Wade only stirred at first, then jerked awake as he realized that Trevor was up. By the time Trevor had gotten his beer, twisted the cap off, taken a swig, and turned around to face Wade, the younger man was sitting upright and looking down at his feet like a child that had done something wrong.

Trevor leaned back against his counter, glaring silently at Wade for several long, awkward moments. Finally he took another sip of his beer and then placed it on the counter, and although his voice was low, the tone permeated roughly through the deafening silence in the trailer.

“Now, Wade,” he started slowly. “Would you care to tell me what the fuck happened last night?”

Wade kept his gaze downward, refusing to make eye contact with Trevor. He swallowed loudly and opened his mouth to speak. “Well,” he began meekly, “you was real mad. You was real mad at me. Th-then after you punched that car, you was still real mad and you tried to walk away, but you wasn’t walkin’ too good. An-and I thought, y’know, that’d you’d get even worse mad at me if I was gonna be leavin’ you all sick on the road, so I took you back to the car and drove us here.” He paused for a moment, then added, “You was still real mad at me, but you wasn’t feelin’ too good I guess, ‘cause you let me take you back.”

Trevor was quiet again once Wade’s explanation ended, and he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I specifically remember telling you to leave me alone and go on your own.”

“Y-yeah,” Wade replied, voice growing slightly frantic. “’Cept, I weren’t sure what to do, ‘cause you was actin’ real unwell, and- and I didn’t wanna make it worse. You was actin’ real strange, and I didn’t think-”

“I don’t,” Trevor interrupted then, speaking louder than before, “give a fuck. About what you thought. When I tell you to do something. You fucking do it. It doesn’t fuckin’ matter how fuckin’ inebriated I am at the time, because Trevor always knows best. Trevor always knows fuckin’ best.”

“Yeah, but Trevor-”

“Bahbahbahbahbah!” Trevor cut in wildly, his volume increasing even more. Wade flinched, looking more and more ashamed as time went on. Trevor paused for a moment to grab his beer again, and took another sip from it, keeping his eyes on Wade the entire time before continuing. “’But Trevor’ nothin’! What the fuck were you even thinking, anyway, Wade? I expect fuckin’ better from you. What, did you think you know better than me?”

“No.”

“You think you’re fuckin’ smarter than me?”

“No.”

“Then what was it?” Trevor suddenly got up from the counter, leaning forward imposingly towards Wade. “I’d looooooooooooove to hear it!” He started gesturing wildly, shaking his arms around and emphasizing his point by tossing his beer bottle at the wall of the trailer. The crash of glass breaking made Wade jump, but he still kept his eyes fixed onto the floor.

“It was just….” Wade trailed off.

“Oh, what is it, buddy boy? Say it loud and proud for ol’ Uncle Trev to hear!”

“You was just-” Wade stopped again, this time seeming like he was desperately trying to find the right words. “You was-” He bit his lip then, and turned his head completely away from Trevor. “You looked sad.”

Trevor stopped dead. There was a deafening silence again, and Trevor didn’t even notice himself backing up into the counter again, almost retreating.

He wasn’t how long he stood there, just staring at Wade. Just staring at him, trying to figure out why every single thing this kid was saying and doing was threatening to break him. He went numb after a while, his body rejecting every single emotion that tried to rear its ugly head.

“Wade,” he finally said lowly, emotionlessly. Hearing his name made Wade turn his head back towards Trevor a little, although he still couldn’t maintain eye contact. Trevor sighed then, and when he reached back and grabbed the pistol that had been lying on the kitchen counter, he could barely even feel himself doing it. He gripped it with his right hand and pointed it deliberately towards Wade. “Kindly exit my fucking home.”

Wade stood up quickly, but instead of retreating he only raised his arms up, looking like he was surrendering. “T-Trevor, I didn’t mean nothin’ by it-”

“I said get out.” Trevor reiterated, the volume in his voice steadily rising again. He could feel the anger resurfacing, if only because it was the only feeling he could even begin to understand anymore. Only when he began slowly trudging towards Wade did the younger man begin taking slow steps towards the door, but he only mirrored Trevor’s own steps. “You think this is a fucking joke?” He ventured, cocking his head slightly. “I’m telling you to fucking leave.”

“Trevor, I just-” Wade was cut off when Trevor suddenly lurched forward and grabbed his collar, shoving him back into the wall. Trevor placed the barrel of the gun against Wade’s temple. 

Trevor was screaming at him now, his face only inches away from Wade as the younger man tried to shrink into the wall behind him. “You think this is fuckin’ funny?! Huh?!”

“No, Trevor, I-” Wade’s frantic pleading was cut off when Trevor slammed the butt of his gun against the bridge of his nose. He cried out in pain and tried to bring his hands up to face, but Trevor was already pulling him away from the wall. With one hand, he threw open the front door, and with his other tossed Wade onto the porch. Wade stumbled onto his knees as his hands instinctively went up to cover his face.

Trevor gave a primal growl and stepped out onto the porch, slamming the door behind him. His voice grew low again as he reached down to grab the back of Wade’s shirt. “I’ll fuckin’ show you somethin’ funny, kid.” In one swift movement, Trevor jerked Wade up to his feet and threw him against the trailer. He immediately pinned him to the wall again, his left arm pressed firmly against his collar while his right held the gun, which was now jammed underneath the left side of Wade’s jaw.

Almost on cue, Trevor heard the door of the trailer next door creak open. “Hey, Trev, are you ba-” Ron’s words immediately faltered upon seeing the sight before him. Trevor growled again, but suddenly his rage turned into manic elation, and the seething noise in his throat turned into laughter.

“Heeeeyyyy, Ron, buddy!” Trevor didn’t look towards his other colleague, keeping his eyes locked onto Wade, whose nose was now freely pouring blood. “You’re just in time, Ronny! Strap the fuck in, ‘cause you’re about to see quite the fuckin’ show!”

“Trevor, wh-” Ron was cut off again, this time by Wade, who was silently shaking his head as best he could with a gun pressed hard into his neck, his eyes wide. Trevor narrowed his eyes and pushed Wade harder into the wall.

“No, no, no, fuck you, look at me.” He growled, quietly now, so only Wade could hear him. Wade swallowed nervously and slowly turned his gaze onto Trevor.

His nose was still bleeding, and the bridge was already starting to look swollen. His eyes were glossy, tears threatening to form from fear and pain, but he didn’t say a word. He didn’t try to fight. He felt tense underneath Trevor’s hold, but his tension held no plans of self defense. Trevor almost faltered, but just snarled suddenly and slowly cocked the hammer of his gun. At this sound, Wade averted his eyes again, his gaze cast downward but unblinking.

As Trevor stood there, finger on the trigger, he realized he had no idea why he was doing this. He was a man that had never needed much reason to do anything, but as he silently stared down Wade, holding a gun to his head, he found no way to explain this.

He could shoot him. It would be so easy. He’d done it hundreds of times before. Killing was simple. This would be so, painfully simple.

It was all so easy.

When Trevor pulled himself away from Wade, it was with a guttural growl and a rough shove. He let the gun hang at his side, and took a large step back from him, muttering curses under his breath.

As soon as Trevor’s hands were off of him, Wade’s tension melted away instantly. He leaned against the wall until his legs gave out, and he slid slowly into a sitting position on the ground.

Trevor sneered and started pacing restlessly until he noticed that Ron had gingerly begun to make his way around the patio to make it to them. Trevor didn’t acknowledge his presence until he was at the foot of the stairs.

“Ron!” He whipped around to face him, and Ron froze like a deer in headlights. Trevor was feeling manic again, and he grinned widely as he shouted, “You want some fuckin’ money?”

Ron blinked rapidly, confused, and his eyes continually darted between Wade and Trevor. “Uh. What?”

“Money, Ron!” Trevor started gesturing wildly again, and every sudden movement made Ron flinch. “Come on, get your head straight! How much you still owe that bitch ex-wife of yours?”

“Well… I, uh-”

Trevor waved his arms dismissively. “I don’t fuckin’ care. Whatever it is, you’re gettin’ it. Trevor Philips Industries is now more profitable than ever, Ronny boy, and we’re all gettin’ a chunk! Even you!” He turned back now to Wade, who was still on the ground. Wade wasn’t flinching at Trevor’s movements, was barely even acknowledging that Trevor was there. “You’ll get a nice, big cut too, Wade! So cheer the fuck up, because soon you’ll have more dinero than your tiny little mind knows what to do with! You can blow it all on meth, soda, clown dildos, whatever the fuck you’re fuckin’ into!” Wade kept his gaze affixed on the ground, staring vacantly through the wooden floor boards.

Trevor looked back and forth between Ron and Wade, almost frantically, and then continued, “So, I guess that’s settled then! Now, if you’ll excuse me, my esteemed colleagues,” Trevor nodded his head slightly, taking a step towards the door of his trailer, “I’m off to do some mediating, and thank the monkey gods for the gracious bounty they have bestowed upon us this fine day.”

Trevor opened the door and stepped inside without looking behind him, sensing Ron immediately dart past him to get to Wade. Trevor slammed the door shut.

Trevor took a few steps forward to the middle of his trailer and then stopped. The manic grin he had had on his face immediately fell, and he brought up both hands to cradle the sides of his head. The gun was still in his right hand, and the sting of cold metal against his cheek was slowly bringing him down, back into reality. He sighed heavily and moved both hands to cover his face before letting them slide down slowly, finally letting them hang at his sides.

He realized he could vaguely hear Ron arguing quietly outside. His words were too muffled to hear, but they were frantic, and met only with silence.

Ron’s protests suddenly became clearer as the door was opened, and then immediately shut. Trevor sighed again, tilting his head back for added emphasis, and begrudgingly turned around to see Wade now standing in front of the door.

Trevor just looked at him for a moment before groaning and running a hand through his hair. “What?” Trevor asked, annoyed, eyeing him expectantly.

Wade appeared to falter at the door, looking downwards timidly and rocking back slightly, as if he had changed his mind and was about to leave. He glanced up at Trevor quickly before looking down at his hands, twiddling his fingers nervously.

Trevor was entirely convinced that Wade was just going to turn back around, but he started walking forward, meeting him in the middle of the trailer. He was standing less than a foot away from Trevor, his hands now at his sides but still twitching slightly, eyes darting back and forth awkwardly between the older man and his shoes.

This went on for what Trevor deemed to be too long, and he was just about to ask him what the fuck he was doing before he was met with Wade’s arms wrapping around him. He was pulled in awkwardly, their chests pressing together as he was held in a stiff hug. Wade’s movements were tense, perhaps awaiting rejection.

Trevor froze when he realized what was happening. He just stood there motionless for a while, unthinking and unfeeling, before he finally came to a realization.

He was tired. 

Trevor was so fucking tired. He was so, desperately tired. All the anger, and all the other emotions he had been trying to hide away were subsiding, and all he could feel was the crippling exhaustion taking over him.

The second realization was pain. Everything started hurting at once. The pounding in his head from his hangover quickly reached deafening levels, and his throat was bruised and hoarse from yelling. But most of all he noticed his right hand, still holding the gun in a death grip. Every laceration and cut from the night before was screaming at him, a few of the cuts bleeding again from the strain of wielding his weapon. His hold on the gun was immediately loosened, and it fell out of his hand limply, the crash of it falling to the ground hitting his ears unpleasantly.

It took a long time for him to move, to lift his arms up and slowly return Wade’s embrace, and when he did his entire body just sagged into it. He heard Wade sniff, relaxing his hold and burying his bloodied face into the crook of Trevor’s neck.

Trevor knew that there were so many things he could have said, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t say anything, couldn’t even think. He couldn’t think about Wade, or Michael, or himself, or anyone. He didn’t have the energy to do anything else. All he could do was just stand there in the middle of his dilapidated little trailer, holding onto Wade like it was the last thing in the world keeping him up.


	4. Chapter 4

Trevor stepped outside his trailer and immediately saw Ron there, sitting at the foot of the porch stairs. Upon hearing the door open and close, he shot up and turned around to face Trevor, eyes wide and face pale.

Trevor only narrowed his eyes at him. “You. Your place. Coffee. Now.”

Ron was stuttering nonsense as he was followed into his house, head continuously darting around to look between Trevor and Trevor’s trailer, but Trevor didn’t say a word until he was sitting down at a cheap dining table set with a cup of black coffee in his hands. After taking a sip, his face scrunching up slightly at the bitter taste, he looked up at Ron, acknowledging the man’s nervous fretting with annoyance.

“He ain’t dead.” Trevor said finally, leaning back in his chair. “Left him in there with a pipe and a Chinese finger trap. Should keep him busy for a while.”

Ron didn’t say anything, but he couldn’t hide the brief flash of relief that appeared on his face.

Trevor wasn’t sure how long he had stood there with Wade, but eventually his head began to clear, and as he pulled away and saw Wade’s bruised, bloody face and red, puffy eyes, he suddenly couldn’t bear to be in the same room with him anymore. Trevor had awkwardly ushered Wade over to the couch, sat him down and told him he’d be right back, and not to move. He didn’t leave him anything; that had been a lie. He had only unwrapped the stained dishrag from his own hand, knelt down on Wade’s level and sheepishly handed it to him, telling him to hold it to his nose. He had gingerly placed a hand against the side of Wade’s face without even thinking about it, and pressed their foreheads together briefly before standing back up and leaving out the door.

But there was no way in hell he was telling Ron that.

Trevor just sat there silently for a while, taking loud sips of his coffee and staring blankly into space. Ron still stood a ways back from him, equally as silent, anxiously tapping his fingers on the counter.

Ron finally cleared his throat. “Uh, Trev? Did something… happen?” He spoke cautiously, not wanting to set off a powder keg.

Trevor didn’t know how to answer that. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to. But he took another slow sip of his coffee and simply said, “Michael’s dead.”

Ron didn’t say anything at first. Trevor glanced up at him to gauge his immediate response, but the man’s face was blank. Ron seemed to be going over his options carefully, hesitant to provide any reaction that would rub Trevor the wrong way.

“How’s that?” He finally asked, trying to sound as neutral as possible, probably to access Trevor’s stance on the situation. Trevor found that he couldn’t really blame him for the emotionless response. He himself didn’t even know what he was feeling.

“That shithead little ghetto freak we were working with capped him.” Trevor replied coldly. “Who the fuck knows why. The man treated him better than any other man ought’ve.” Trevor sneered bitterly, downing the rest of his coffee. “Guess he really was takin’ after Mikey. Asshole’s got the fuckin’ Judas act down pat.”

Ron chewed on his lip as he took in the information given to him, looking like he still wasn’t piecing it all together. “Wh…What’d Wade do?”

Trevor looked down at the ground. “Nothin’.”

“Nothin’.” Ron parroted incredulously. Trevor looked back up at him with a glare.

“What’s with the tone, Ronny?” He growled.

Ron grew defensive, suddenly waving his hands in front of him dismissively. “I-I don’t mean anything, Trevor. Honest I don’t. It’s just….”

Trevor raised an eyebrow. “What?” Ron stood there, mouth agape, looking hesitant to speak up. Trevor sighed. “I’m not gonna hit you, Ron, at least not today. Or at least not for whatever you clearly want to say. Trust me, I don’t have the fuckin’ energy. Just fuckin’ speak, you neurotic fuck.”

“I- okay,” Ron finally gave, taking a breath before continuing. “I guess…. I suppose I’m out of the loop here, so maybe it ain’t my place to say nothin’, but…. It seemed odd, when I saw you guys outside. I mean, Trev, you’re a powerful, intimidatin’ guy and all. I mean, that’s why we got so much respect for you.” Ron paused as if to check that his comments weren’t landing sourly. “But…. You just kinda looked… out of sorts, I guess. And- and Wade was actin’ weird too. I- I tried askin’ him what happened, and if he was okay, and he wasn’t even talkin’ to me. I don’t think he was even listenin’. You know, Trev, that ain’t like him.”

Trevor took in his words for a moment before sighing again. “Look, Ron, it’s complicated. Everything’s just a huge fuckin’ clusterfuck right now. I don’t expect you to understand. In fact, I don’t really want you to. Just forget about it.”

Ron looked at the ground apologetically. “Sorry, Trevor. I-I’m just worried, is all. I wanna help you, if I can. And Wade….” His voice trailed off. “I think what got me the most about everything was the look he gave me. Like- It was like he knew somethin’ I didn’t.”

Trevor looked off to the side, biting the inside of his cheek. He thought for a little bit before laughing dryly. “You know what, Ron?” Ron looked up at him nervously, looking concerned that he had said too much. Trevor just kept looking to the side, shaking his head slightly. “For once in his fuckin’ life, I think Wade knows somethin’ neither of us do.”

Ron looked confused, but Trevor ignored the questions on his face and simply stood up. He gave another empty laugh, before muttering, “Just don’t know why he even bothers.” Trevor wasn’t even sure if he had meant to say it out loud.

Ron just looked down again, and then almost sadly said, “He don’t know no better.”

The phrase itself was so seemingly harmless, but the implications of it stung in a way that Trevor hadn’t expected. He paused for a moment before walking over to the front door, opening it and stepping out into the desert air.

“Yeah?” He replied over his shoulder, wavering in the doorway. “Then what’s your excuse?”

He shut the door behind him without giving Ron time to reply.

-_-_-_-_-_-

Trevor scuffled anxiously in front of his door for a while before entering, only to find that Wade had fallen asleep on the couch again. He looked at him for a moment and then retreated back outside.

If no one was waiting up for him, he might as well go for a ride.

He got in his truck and started driving, not sure where he wanted to go until he found himself stopping at his airfield.

He got out of his car and walked slowly over to the plane that lay dormant in the hangar, running a hand along the side of it absently. He considered taking it out for a spin, contemplating that being up in the air might clear his head, but then decided against it. He wasn’t entirely sure if he wanted his head clear yet. So instead he just heaved himself up onto the wing of the plane, stretching his legs out as he leaned back against the cabin.

As the coolness of the metal seeped into his body and the quiet air enveloped him, he was quickly assaulted with thoughts of all the events that had transpired through the last few weeks.

He thought about the Union Depository. He thought about Los Santos. He thought about everyone he knew, he thought about Franklin, Patricia, Ron, Wade, Floyd, Brad, Tracey, Jimmy, Amanda, and everyone in between. But most of all, he thought about Michael. God damn, did he think about Michael.

It was probably the first time Trevor had really thought about him since his death, and it suddenly hit him like a brick wall.

He was gone again. Michael was fucking gone again. And this time, there was no way in hell he was ever getting him back.

Trevor wasn’t even completely sure if he was mourning him or simply cursing his name, but all he knew was it felt different than last time. He remembered the helplessness, the crushing realness, the emptiness.

But last time, Trevor remembered thinking he would give literally anything to have him back again. To have it be like old times, just him and Michael and some good old fashioned felonies. Then, nine years later, all traumas aside, he had gotten just that. It wasn’t quite the same, but he had everything back. It was everything he had ever wanted.

But then, before he could even try to appreciate it, it was jerked out of his grasp again.

Trevor wasn’t sure when he started crying. Before he knew it, he was hugging his knees to his chest like a child and burying his face in his pants to attempt to stifle the sobs that hung in his throat. 

He supposed it didn’t matter anyway. 

There wasn’t anyone out there to hear him.

-_-_-_-_-_-

When Trevor got back to his trailer, Wade was awake again. He was sitting on the table in the kitchen area, watching something on Trevor’s old television, the picture barely recognizable through the cracked screen and fuzzy reception. When he heard the door open, he looked over.

“Oh, hey Trevor,” he said, significantly more cheerful, but not quite at full energy. He had cleaned all the blood off of his face, and the bridge of his nose was still bruised and slightly swollen, but overall the damage wasn’t as bad as Trevor had thought it was. “You back now? Where’d you go?”

Trevor didn’t step inside, just lingered in the doorway. “Out.” He said shortly, running a hand through his hair. His voice came out in a tired rasp. “Get in the car, Wade, we’re goin’ on a drive.”

Wade became a little apprehensive again, blinking several times and growing quieter. “Wh- where we goin’, Trevor?”

“We’re getting you a phone.” He looked down at the ground, almost sheepishly. “Y’need one, don’t you?”

Wade seemed to perk up again, the answer satisfying his nerves. “Oh. Okay.” He slid off of the table and walked towards Trevor. Trevor turned around and let him follow him out to the car.

As they walked down the steps, he heard Wade sniff slightly. “Hey, Trevor? We gonna stop for ice cream?”

In spite of himself, Trevor found himself laughing faintly through his nose. He shook his head a little incredulously as he opened the car door. 

“Yeah,” he muttered, voice cracking slightly. “Yeah, sure. Why not?”


	5. Chapter 5

Time passed in a blur. Trevor couldn’t really tell the difference between hours and days anymore. Everything seemed so rehearsed, so meaningless, like a colorless storybook that was being read to him over and over again. A plot that never changed, the atmosphere as dull and uneventful as the time before.

Things weren’t the same between him, Ron, and Wade. Even though, in theory, things were better. He was actually paying them, for once.

Trevor had given Ron enough to pay off his ex-wife, with a little extra for any of the few hobbies he had (meth and UFO hunting, primarily). Wade had been getting whatever he wanted. Even some stuff he didn’t. They should have been happy. It should have been enough.

But Ron was apprehensive. He was constantly on-edge, even more disconcerted and jumpier than usual. The worst was when he always looked to be on the brink of saying something, but whatever was on his mind never formulated itself into spoken word. Sometimes it pissed Trevor off, and he would occasionally be tempted to ask him to just spit out whatever he was thinking. But he knew he didn’t want to know the answer.

Wade was quiet. He had always been quiet, very polite and wielding even when not around Trevor. He was friendly, sure, but not necessarily vocal. He always tried to never misspeak and rub someone the wrong way. He liked listening. But the quietness Trevor had been faced with was absolutely deafening. It was smothering, and to Trevor, accusatory. He found it hitting him harder than any other name he could remember being called.

Trevor remembered the desperation he felt in Los Santos, and the blinding need to be back home. But now that he was here, he couldn’t remember why he ever missed Sandy Shores.

-_-_-_-_-_-

“Hey, Uncle T, it’s Jizzle.”

“Jimmy, if you ever call yourself that again, I’m gonna rip off your skin and wear it to my high school reunion.”

“Uhhhhhh. Fair enough. So what’s crackin’?”

“Oh, you know, not much. Just sitting here, rotting in the desert.”

“Oh, so, uh, you’re not holdin’ up at Vanilla Unicorn anymore…?”

“No.”

“Oh. Well that’s too bad, man, ‘cause you know-”

“Jim, for the last time, I’m not taking you out drinking. I mean, come on, Jim, how old were you last time I saw you? What, like six?”

“I was eleven.”

“Bahhhhhh, close enough! The point is, you’re just gonna have to wait another nine years before I’m ready to take you on a _man’s_ night out.”

“Yeah, alright, alright, whatever. Well, uh, I guess at the risk of making my segue seem inappropriate and totally douchey, I guess I should tell you the real reason I called.”

“Mm. I’m listening.”

“Well… It’s just. The funeral’s tomorrow.”

“…”

“…You still there, Uncle T?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, uh, I guess I was just wondering if you wanted to come.”

“…Is dear Amanda also extending this invitation?”

“Well… not exactly….”

“Then I don’t think it’s a good idea, Jim.”

“…Man, fuck my mom! I mean, shit, he was your friend too! If you wanna go, then I say fuck her. What the fuck does she even know about you anyway? I mean, she’s all fuckin’ wrong, who the fuck is she to-”

“Hey. Don’t talk about your mother that way. She’s the only one you got.”

“…Man, what the fuck, Uncle T? You fuckin’ hate Mom.”

“I do, but she ain’t my mother, she’s yours. And now you’re the fuckin’ man of the house, and your job is to not be the fat, piece-of-shit failure that everyone’s expecting you to be and support your mother and sister.”

“Hey!”

“What? It’s the truth.”

“Well…. Whatever, man. Even if you’re right, what about you? I mean…. Don’t you want to be there?”

“…I never understood the point of those things. Always seemed way too self-centered and… morbid.”

“You’re one to talk about things that are self-centered and morbid.”

“Bah. Even so. I dunno. Never got the point in making an entire day out of bein’ grieved for. Like you never expected people to do it anyway. It’s just… kind of a bummer, I guess. ‘Sides. I wasn’t invited to the last funeral. Why start now?”

“…If you say so, Uncle T.”

“…Augh, fuck, enough of this shit. Let’s talk about something else. Heard you were looking for a job.”

“Ah, yeah. Well, I’ve, uh, got my feelers out.”

“No one wants to hire an inexperienced, spoiled little dope fiend, huh?”

“Um. Like I said. I’ve got, uh, feelers. One of my homies at Bugershot might be able to hook me up with something.”

“Ehh, you gotta start somewhere I guess. A little too whitebread for my taste though.”

“Honestly, I think this family could stand to be a little whitebread.”

“…How’s Trace?”

“She’s okay…. She’s going to college soon.”

“Whaaaat? Our Tracey? In college? Why didn’t I hear this from her?”

“Oh, uh, I dunno. She’s gonna put it off for a while, because of, you know, everything…. But she’s accepted and everything. Gonna tour the campus in a few days. Maybe now she’ll stop taking it right, left, and center for her 15 minutes.”

“Hey. Watch how you fuckin’ talk.”

“Sorry.”

“Still though. Maybe there’s hope for you kids yet.”

“Yeah, I guess…. So, Uncle T, what’s happening right now? You up to chill out? I’d be up for another round of darts.”

“Ahh. Nah. I don’t think so, Jimmy. Not right now. I’m a little…. Well, I’m sure there’s places you should be right now. I don’t think now’s the best time.”

“Oh. Okay. I was just…. I don’t know. I guess I just wanted some time to unwind from everything.”

“Yeah. I know. Just… not right now, okay? We’ll do some good, old-fashioned male bonding soon, just-”

“It’s okay, Uncle T. I get it.”

“….I’ll catch you later, Jim.”

“Alright…. Hey, Trevor?”

“….Yeah?”

“Thanks, Trevor. Thanks.”

-_-_-_-_-_-

It had been almost a week since Trevor’s return to Sandy Shores. He had gone out to the bar to get a few shots of whisky in. He had always hated whisky. But it made him nostalgic for days when he was younger, when a certain someone would always force him to chug it down anyway, for no other reason than to have something to get drunk off of. Plus, the bitter flavor stuck in the back of his throat made it easier to wallow in self pity.

The keep kicked him out pretty quickly. Not because he was too inebriated, but because she had seen that miserable look in his eyes too many times before, and too many times that look often ended in spattered bloodstains on the floor of her bar. Trevor was a little perturbed, not feeling nearly drunk enough to go home yet, but he found himself too tired to argue, and complied with decent speed.

When he got home, he found Wade in his trailer.

It wasn’t like it was a surprise or anything. After a year of living in Sandy Shores, Wade still didn’t have an actual place of his own. It wasn’t like he couldn’t. If he needed it, Trevor would have gotten him a place with the business’s money and find a way to make it a tax write off. But being Sandy Shores’ resident friendly, non-threatening town fool had its perks, and Wade was usually just content to float around to anywhere that would have him. Primarily though, he always wound up at Trevor’s doorstep more often than anywhere else. Trevor guessed it wouldn’t be far off to call them roommates.

But the last couple days, finding Wade wandering aimlessly in his trailer was becoming an infrequent occurrence. Whenever he did come across him hanging around, it felt weird. It was almost awkward. And Trevor wasn’t a guy that threw the word around a lot. Nothing was awkward around Trevor Philips.

Even so, he stiffened slightly at Wade’s presence as he walked through the door. Wade looked up at him immediately from where he sat at one of the chairs around the kitchen table.

“Oh, hey, Trevor,” Wade greeted. His tone was friendly, but unenthusiastic. Trevor studied him for a moment, and found that he wasn’t doing anything of interest. He seemed to have been messing around with his phone; it sat within his reach on the table, the screen still lit up and showing a chatlog with someone Trevor didn’t know (it wasn’t anyone important, probably just one of his other juggalo friends). He had a cigarette in his hand, something he didn’t often indulge in in front of Trevor, which explained the slightly sheepish look on his face. But other than that, nothing was out of the ordinary.

Trevor didn’t know why that bothered him so much.

“You ain’t been around much.” The statement was flat, and very sharp, so much so that Trevor was surprised when he heard it leave his own mouth. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. It must have been the alcohol. Christ, he should have gotten one last shot in before he left. He was just drunk enough to feel slightly dizzy and filter-less, but not enough to not give a shit. He hated being buzzed. It made him agitated. But for once, he wasn’t angry-agitated. Just… agitated.

Wade looked taken aback. He just stared at Trevor for a while, blinking in confusion, until he finally replied with, “Uhhh. Sorry, Trevor.” It was almost phrased as a question, as if he was trying to assess the nature of the older man’s comment. To Trevor, it sounded like he was speaking cautiously to a strange dog, just trying not to get bit.

Trevor suddenly felt a little light-headed, and he said nothing as he simply flopped down on the couch opposite to Wade, turning his back to the kitchen and leaning back against the arm of couch.

“Um,” he couldn’t see Wade as he started speaking again, and he didn’t turn around to look. “I, I just been around other places, Trevor. I weren’t tryin’ to seem distant or nothin’. If, if you need me around I can-”

“You know,” Trevor cut in, voice escalating slightly. Once again, he was slightly surprised he was even saying anything, and his voice dropped low again. “You don’t… have to stay here. You can fuckin’-” He cut himself off, finding the words difficult to come by. “You can go. If you want.”

There was a beat of silence. And then, “You’re not mad at me, are you, Trevor?”

There it was. Trevor didn’t need to turn around to see whatever sorrowful, dejected look was plastered on Wade’s face, because the apologetic, shaky voice had been enough. Trevor suddenly had never felt like a bigger piece of shit than he did at that very moment. He groaned loudly, bringing up his hands to run them roughly through his hair, sliding them back down to cover his face.

“Fuck. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck,” Trevor droned, words muffled underneath his palms. “No. Nooooooo. No, I’m not fuckin’ mad at you. I’m not mad. I just- Fuck. Fffffffffffffffffffffffuck me.” As he cursed himself, he let his hands fall back to his sides and stared ahead blankly. “Fuck me. Fuck my own stupid asshole existence. Fuck it. I’m not fucking drunk enough.”

Trevor’s words were met with silence, and he thought that Wade was just ignoring him for lack of anything better to add. He couldn’t blame him.

But after a moment, he felt something cool touch his shoulder. He looked over slightly to see Wade now standing over him, a bottle of beer in hand, holding it out to Trevor. Trevor snorted slightly at the offering; just what he needed, another alcohol-induced stupor of rage. But he took it anyway, twisting off the cap and almost gingerly taking a sip. After Wade’s hands were free, he immediately walked over to the side of the couch opposite of Trevor, taking some time to sit down, hugging his legs to his chest to give Trevor more room.

Trevor hadn’t watched him sit down, just kept his gaze off to the side slightly, but he could feel his eyes on him. As they sat there in silence, Trevor went through everything he could have said, everything he should have said.

“I’m sorry,” Trevor said flatly. The words came out as a rasp, and they felt weak, weightless. He felt Wade shuffle uncomfortably.

“’Bout what?”

Trevor took another drink. “About….” His voice trailed off, the will to go on leaving him.

Wade didn’t reply right away, and Trevor heard him fumbling with the watch on his wrist. “Floyd and me wasn’t real close.”

Trevor grimaced to himself, running his free hand through his hair again. “You don’t have to….” His voice trailed off again, but the entire phrase echoed mercilessly inside his own head. _You don’t have to be like me._

He wasn’t sure if Wade understood him or not, but the younger man let the words hang in the air before continuing. “Floyd used to talk to me like I was dumb.”

This made Trevor look up. Wade had tucked his chin into his chest, hugging his knees and looking down as he spoke. “I didn’t like it. You ain’t ever done that. I mean, sometimes you call me dumb a lot I guess. But you ain’t ever talked to me like I was dumb.”

Trevor just stared at him for another moment, at a loss for words, before shaking his head slightly. “That… that doesn’t make it okay. So, I just… I’m sorry.”

Wade looked back up, and their eyes met. “I ain’t mad at you or nothin’.”

Trevor scoffed incredulously, shaking his head again as he took another drink. “Why not? Join the club.” Wade looked away, fiddling anxiously with a rip in his jeans. Trevor could see he was hesitant to say something, so he tried again. “What?”

Wade sniffed. “I don’t wanna piss you off or nothin’.”

“You’re not gonna piss me off, Wade.”

Wade sucked in his lower lip and chewed on it nervously. “You a real nice guy, Trevor. Honest. You’re a good friend. Jus’ sometimes I think you ain’t too good at showin’ it. I guess ‘cause it’s hard bein’ a friend sometimes. But that’s okay. Nobody’s good at everything.” He stopped speaking then, and Trevor thought he was done, which he was somewhat grateful for. He wasn’t sure if he could take much more. But he felt a lump form in his throat as Wade continued. “Nobody’s gotta be perfect. An’ I don’t think you mind me for not bein’ perfect. So I’m not gonna mind you.”

Trevor had to look away before their eyes could meet again. He took another sip of his beer, the lukewarm liquid falling bitterly down his throat, before biting his lip. Trevor knew he went through varying stages of self-awareness when it came to himself. Most notably was complete denial, and complete lucidity. And the last couple days had been the most painfully lucid days he had experienced in a long time. Probably not since nine years ago, when he had lost Michael the first time.

As if on cue, Wade spoke up again, even quieter than he had been before. “Is you sad about that Michael guy you was lookin’ for?”

Trevor didn’t trust himself to speak, didn’t even trust himself to lie. He just slowly nodded his head.

“Were you best friends?”

Trevor nodded again.

Wade was silent for a while, and part of Trevor wanted to tell him to keep it that way. The other part never wanted him to stop. 

“It’s okay if you don’t wanna talk to me ‘bout it or nothin’,” Wade began, and the tears Trevor had been keeping back started to fight their way out. “But if it makes you feel any better, we can be best friends too. If you wanna.”

Trevor soon lost track of the rest of the night. The next morning, he wouldn’t quite remember how long it had been before he had fallen asleep. He wouldn’t remember how long it took before the bottle of beer in his hands slipped out of his grasp, or how much of the amber fluid had dispensed itself into the carpet.

He would, however, remember feeling like he couldn’t breathe. He would remember how the sobs left him quicker than he was able to take air back in. He would remember the desperation, choking him in an almost literal sense.

He would also remember the sound of somebody else breathing. He’d remember focusing on it, trying to match his breaths to theirs.

He remembered how it felt like the only thing that had gotten him through the night.


	6. Chapter 6

Trevor stood at the front door of the De Santa household and contemplated turning around and leaving.

It was late evening, the sun almost completely set on the Los Santos skyline. He had come here on a whim. It had been a few days since he had talked to Jimmy, so he wasn’t sure if anyone would even be home. But when he arrived, the lights were on and there was one lone, red convertible in the driveway.

He had brought Wade with him. Not exactly for moral support, but more so for the fact that if he had been alone on the drive here, he probably wouldn’t have made it this far. He was waiting out front with the car, after Trevor had parked it in front of the gate and jumped the fence, knowing there was no one at home who would have let him in.

Trevor gritted his teeth before knocking on the front door. Might as well get this over with.

When Amanda opened it, Trevor immediately wondered if he looked as tired as she did. Her complexion was pale, her features slightly sunken in. She had dark circles under her eyes, and she stared at Trevor flatly and expressionless.

They both just looked at each other for a while before Amanda said something. “You weren’t at the funeral.”

Trevor was nonplussed by the hint of disappointment in her tone. He eventually shrugged slightly. “Didn’t think I was invited.”

Amanda bit the inside of her cheek and gave a barely perceptible nod. She looked down at the ground. “What do you want, Trevor?”

“I need to talk to you about something.”

When Amanda looked back up, her gaze was venomous. “What if I don’t feel like talking?”

Trevor narrowed his eyes. “Amanda.” His voice was almost chiding, and Amanda furrowed her brow in annoyance. But to Trevor’s surprise, she only sighed as she stepped back from the doorway, begrudgingly ushering him inside.

He took a step in, closing the door behind him and looking around mindlessly before asking, “The kids home?”

Amanda turned away from him, shaking her head. “Tracey’s visiting her school. Jimmy’s out. Come into the dining room.”

Trevor followed her through the corridor, watching her sit down at the table next to a half-empty glass of wine. He took the chair adjacent to her and sat down stiffly.

“What do you want, Trevor?” Amanda suddenly repeated after a bout of silence, picking up her drink and taking a sip from it.

Trevor sighed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He could have bullshitted a little while longer, but he thought it better to get straight to the point. “I’m giving you the money from our last heist.”

Amanda was quiet for a moment, and then laughed dryly. She looked down into her glass, shaking her head. “I don’t fucking want it.”

“I don’t care.”

Amanda seemed a little surprised by Trevor’s firm tone, but it didn’t stop her from looking up at him with a piercing glare. “How fucking dare you act like you know what’s best for this family.”

Trevor only sighed, leaning back in his chair. “It’s about 20 million dollars. Give or take.”

This was only met with more silence, and with Amanda polishing off the rest of her drink.

“I don’t care if you don’t want it,” Trevor continued, wringing his hands. “I’ve already decided. I already called Lester up to work out wiring it through to you guys. It makes me fuckin’ sick, looking at it in my account. So I don’t care if you don’t want it. The fact is, I don’t need it. You do.”

Amanda didn’t say anything for a long time. Trevor just shuffled awkwardly, not willing to disturb the empty air. In her current state, he wasn’t sure what to expect. Tears? A tongue lashing? Another stubborn refusal? She could do anything, and as much as it perturbed him, he couldn’t really blame her for any of it.

Although in his opinion, the slap across the face was a little out of line.

Trevor’s first instinct, as always, was to fight back, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to suppress the urge. His hand instinctively went to his cheek, not really out of pain, but to feel the handprint-shaped mark on his face, the skin already growing hot and angry.

Amanda’s jaw was clenched tightly. There were tears in her eyes, but her glare was as biting as ever. “You fuck.” She spat.

Trevor looked off to the side, just holding his cheek, before a dry laugh escaped his throat. Amanda looked about ready to hit him again, but he just kept chuckling quietly, unable to stop himself.

“I never know what to fuckin’ think of you,” he finally blurted out, looking back at her. “The scariest, most chemically unbalanced man you know walks into your home and offers you 20 mil, and you fuckin’ pimp slap him like a bitch that owes you money.”

Amanda’s expression didn’t change, but tears started to roll down her cheeks. “This is all your fault.”

Trevor twitched. He looked down at the ground. “You think I fuckin’ wanted this?” He growled lowly.

“This is your fault,” Amanda continued, shaking her head wildly. “Don’t fucking try to act like the big hero now, because you’re the only reason he got back into this. If you hadn’t come back he would have-”

“Fuck you, Amanda!” Trevor slammed his hand against the table and stood up quickly, making Amanda jump. He glared down at her, his entire face twitching in anger. “I’m fucking mourning too!”

He was a little surprised that her posture hadn’t changed as he stood up. Her body language was different than he had ever seen before. She wasn’t backing down. Her eyes looked like she wanted to fight.

It was kind of impressive.

He grew quiet as he tried to read her face. Her eyes hadn’t softened, but the fury was slowly leaving them, and she just looked up at him expectantly, as if waiting for him to finish.

Trevor just growled and pushed his chair away roughly, letting it land with a crash onto the floor. He stepped back a little, turning his back to Amanda and stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “I was always fucking mourning,” he continued. “I’ve been mourning him for nine whole fucking years.”

“Why did you have to find him again?” Amanda’s voice was quiet, and heavy. Trevor whipped around to face her again, pulling his hands out of his pockets and gesturing wildly with them.

“He was my best fucking friend, Amanda!” Amanda seemed to grimace, and looked away. “Michael was my best fucking friend, and I fucking missed him! I mean, fuck, I fucking miss him now! After all the shit he pulled over me. After everything this entire fucking family hid from me. But I still fucking thought about you. I still fucking cared, and you know I still do.” Trevor paused for a moment before taking a menacing step forward, pointing a finger at Amanda. “So don’t fucking tell me it’s my fault. Because I’ve had that thought fuckin’ keep me awake every goddamn night for the last nine fucking years.” His voice cracked on the last word, and he had to stop. Amanda still refused to look at him, but tears were now steadily streaming down her cheeks.

Trevor waited for her to say something, and when she didn’t he just gave an exasperated sigh. “Look. Just… let me do this. I know it probably means fuck all, but just fucking let me have this one thing. This is all I have.”

A sob finally escaped Amanda’s throat, and she covered her face with her hands. As she wept, the small nod she eventually gave was barely discernible through the heaving of her shoulders.

Trevor just stood there for a while, watching her. He supposed a gentleman would have hugged her, placed a hand on her shoulder; consoled her in some way. But it wasn’t a secret that he wasn’t exactly a gentleman, and for that matter Amanda wasn’t quite a lady either. He didn’t really feel like getting hit in the face again. Instead, he just picked his chair back up and sat back down in it. He just stayed in front of her, leaning forward and looking numbly at the ground.

It took a while for her to calm down, but as her sobs finally quieted, she slowly slid her hands down her face and looked forward distantly.

She sighed shakily. “I’m so tired.”

Trevor let out a quiet scoff. “Join the club.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

As Tracey pulled up to the house, the first thing she noticed was the familiar red Bohdi parked on the street in front of her house. Her first reaction was excitement, which quickly turned to dread as she remembered that her mother was the only one home.

The second thing she noticed, however, was the young man leaning against the front of the truck, smoking a cigarette. She furrowed her brow in curiosity, pulling up behind the Bohdi instead of going straight into the driveway. She parked and exited her car. The man didn’t seem to notice her until he heard the car door close. He looked back briefly, and then quickly looked away again, as if embarrassed. Tracey cocked her head a little, approaching him carefully.

“Ummm, hello?” She greeted warily. The man shuffled around nervously as she approached him, looking like he hadn’t been expecting anyone to find him.

“Hi,” he said. He suddenly looked down at the cigarette in his hand. He tried to hide it behind his back a little sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“Oh.” Tracey giggled a little. “No. You’re fine.” She looked back between the man and the red truck. “So, um, like, are you friends with Trevor?”

The young man seemed to light up at the mention of his name, some of the awkwardness washing off of him. “Oh, yeah! Me ‘n’ Trevor’s real good friends!”

“Oh, okay. Cool!” Tracey giggled again. “I’m Tracey. I’m, like, kind of like Trevor’s niece I guess.”

The man smiled a little nervously. “I’m Wade.”

“So, like, what’s Uncle Trevor doing here?” Tracey asked, cocking her head again.

“Oh, uh, I dunno,” Wade shrugged slightly, taking one last drag from his cigarette before dropping it on the street. “He just said he had some business t’ take care of. An’ he said I had to watch the truck. I dunno though. He said we could stop for ice cream on th’ way back.”

“Oh,” Tracey looked nervously up at the house, then back at Wade. “You haven’t heard any, like, screaming or crying in there since he went in, have you?”

Wade reached up to scratch his nose. “Naw, I ain’t heard nothin’ like that. Been real borin’ out here. I don’t think watchin’ the truck’s a very good job.”

Tracey laughed. “Well, like, I’m sure they’re fine then.” She stepped a little closer to Wade, feeling more comfortable. “Ohmigod, you are sooo funny! I like, cannot even believe Trevor’s never mentioned you!”

Wade looked down and kicked his feet. “Y-yeah. I think Trevor talks ‘bout you sometimes though. I’m not sure, sometimes I forget stuff like that.” He kept his gaze downward, looking embarrassed.

Tracey gave a friendly smile. “You’re, like, totally super quiet though. Are you just, like, shy or something?”

“Ummm. Sorry.” Wade scratched the back of his head. “Trevor says I’m quiet, is all. Plus….” His eyes fluttered back and forth between Tracey and the pavement. “I dunno, it’s kinda hard to talk t’ya. You bein’ so nice and pretty an’ all.”

A blush spread across Tracey’s cheeks, and she grinned bashfully. “Ohmigod. Thank you!” she tittered giddily. She took another step closer, narrowing her eyes a little playfully. “You’re, like, way cuter though.”

Wade’s fair face flushed slightly, and he continued kicking his feet. “Thanks.” He worried his lip for a moment. “Hey, Tracey?”

Tracey took yet another step forward. “Mm hm?”

Wade kept his head down but looked up at her slightly, a shy smile on his face. “Do you like Insane Clown Posse?”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

By the time Amanda had walked Trevor outside, they found Wade enthralling Tracey about 20 minutes deep into an explanation of the dark carnival.

As she dragged Tracey into the house, the leer Amanda gave Trevor could have cut diamonds. Trevor tried to keep his head down as he yanked Wade away by his ears, ignoring the cries of pain as he shoved him into the car.

By the time they left Los Santos, Tracey had already sent Wade 14 texts.

Trevor cringed with the sound of each and every notification. He sure hoped Amanda could find solace in that $20 million being transferred to her account. Because otherwise, she was going to fucking kill him.


End file.
